


Midnight Hour

by soapberrypage2428



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapberrypage2428/pseuds/soapberrypage2428
Summary: Lyra tells Mrs. Coulter about a nightmare she has and realizes where she truly belongs.
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Pantalaimon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	Midnight Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fan who decided to try my hand at writing. I am all about that angst in this piece, so consider yourself warned!

The shriek cut through the night air like a swift blade, puncturing the tranquil stillness that had encapsulated the girl only moments before. Lyra jerked awake, her breath hitching in her chest. She lurched forward violently to a sitting position in the large Queen-sized bed and clutched her chest, her heart throbbing painfully beneath her sternum. 

“Lyra,” Pan’s small voice originated from somewhere close by in the dark room. The slithering sound of fur against cloth filled her ears as he migrated up from the foot of the bed, making his way in a low shuffle over the soft terrain of the down comforter. He scurried up her leg and a moment later she felt his weight in her lap, his ermine’s claws catching on the fine silk of her pajamas. 

“Pan! ” 

“Lyra, it’s alright.” The soft yellow light filtering in through the open window glinted in his beady black eyes. “We’re safe, we’re –“

The distant sound of a door opening silenced him. The two listened as quick footsteps drew nearer from outside; a moment later the bedroom door burst open. Something grunted impishly in the dark and scrambled up the bed frame to land heavily at the foot of the bed where Pan had been sleeping. The light clicked on to reveal Mrs. Coulter standing in the doorway, wearing a long silk bathrobe and a startled expression. 

“Lyra,” she exhaled at the sight of the small girl and her daemon huddled together. The golden monkey stared at the duo with unblinking black eyes, his tail thumping against the mattress betraying his poorly concealed agitation. Mrs. Coulter swiftly crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you alright?” She cupped Lyra’s flushed face between her cool hands and inspected her closely. “What’s the matter, darling?”

Lyra finally realized – she had been the one who had screamed. A shudder shook the girl’s body as she thought back to the dream that had wrenched her from her slumber. Lyra shut her eyes tightly and shook her head, trying to swallow the sob that threatened to pry itself free from behind her clenched teeth.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” the woman murmured, her eyes full of soft worry. She stroked the dimples embedded in Lyra’s cheeks with her thumbs, the repetition and subtle intimacy it suggested soothing to the girl.

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Coulter,” Lyra gulped, her voice ragged. “Just had a – a bad dream is all. I’m fine, really.” 

She didn’t realize she was clutching the flannel sheets until Mrs. Coulter covered one white-knuckled fist with her own soft one, the lamp light winking in the plain gold band adorning the woman’s knuckle.

“This doesn’t seem like ‘nothing,’ Lyra.” Mrs. Coulter studied her charge’s face with a searching, almost shrewd expression, her smooth brow puckered into a frown. Lyra said nothing, her face hot with embarrassment. She’d been in London with her new employer only a month, and she didn’t want to give her the impression that she could be so easily reduced to tears by a nightmare – she wasn’t a baby, after all. Lyra had bragged of her stoicism to Mrs. Coulter only the day before, when the woman had inquired about the pale scar etched across her forehead (a souvenir from a memorable battle with the Gyptian kids that had taken place on the muddy banks of the Thames the previous autumn). 

Lyra was well-versed in physical pain (a hazard when one spent their life skinning their bare knees on the shingled roofs of Jordan College and inciting feuds with other children, many of whom were bigger and faster than she), so it was to her greatest shame that something as mundane as a dream could crack her steely reserve, revealing the childish vulnerability beneath. Pan nudged her hand with his head in a silent show of support, aware that the golden monkey was watching his every subtle move closely. 

“Why don’t we get you settled down, darling?” Mrs. Coulter broke the silence, realizing it was futile to keep pestering the girl with questions when she was so obviously upset.

Mrs. Coulter rose to flick off the light switch before making her way back to the bed and gently nudging Lyra over to make space. Sliding under the comforter, she snaked her arm beneath the girl’s head and around her shoulders, anchoring her gently into the curve of her body. 

Lyra eagerly curled into Mrs. Coulter’s embrace, reveling in the physical affection that was still so foreign to her as the woman stroked her hair with long fingers. From the foot of the bed their daemons shadowed the pair, with the golden monkey’s tail safely encircling Pan, his black paws petting the younger daemon’s head in a surprising show of gentleness.

Lyra nestled her head beneath the woman’s chin and sighed, the shock of adrenaline that had coursed through her body only moments earlier now receding rapidly like a great wave, leaving her nerves exposed and shot in its wake. They laid in their silent embrace, the only gauge of time being Lyra’s sobs and occasional hiccups, which gradually gave way to the occasional sniffle, and then silence. 

After what felt like ages, the girl, now dry-eyed, broke the soft hush that encapsulated the pair. “I dreamt about my parents. About the – the airship they were on,” Lyra said softly; if it weren’t for the short pause in Mrs. Coulter smoothing her hair, she would have thought the woman hadn’t heard her. “They’re sitting across from one another in their seats. My father is reading a newspaper and my…my mother is looking out the window, watching the rain and lightning flashing outside. Then this explosion sounds, there's a bunch of fire, and she’s gone…” She clamped her eyes shut in an effort to prevent the fresh onslaught of tears from escaping, but to no avail; soon the front of Mrs. Coulter’s silk bathrobe was soaked with her tears. “I’ve had this dream for as long as I can remember, but it’s never been this bad. In the past, if I woke up upset I’d always tell myself, ‘at least I have Uncle Asriel. At least my place is at Jordan College with Roger and the scholars, and the Gyptians.’” 

Lyra’s voice was fraught and frayed like a piece of string stretched taut for too long. She took a shuddering breath before continuing on. “These past few weeks with you have been the happiest in my life, Mrs. Coulter, and I’m so grateful – really, I am. It’s just…I’m not at Jordan anymore. I don’t know where Roger is, and my uncle…I only see him a couple times a year, if I’m lucky. Things are changing so fast, and I just feel so…so…” 

Mrs. Coulter’s warm hand rubbed small circles on Lyra’s back. “It’s alright, darling. What is it? What do you feel?” 

“I just feel so alone.” A fresh wave of tears overtook Lyra as she finally gave voice to the stark realization that had greeted her when she woke. “I don’t know where I belong.” 

Lyra didn’t notice Mrs. Coulter extricating herself from their embrace until she felt a finger gently tilt her chin up. She opened her eyes to find the woman raised up on one elbow, the light from outside casting her face into sharp relief. 

“My darling Lyra,” Mrs. Coulter whispered, cupping the girl’s face in her hand and thumbing away the fresh tears glistening in her eyes. “You are right where you belong: here, with me.” The woman’s voice was tinged with an earnestness that sounded foreign to Lyra’s ears – never in all her time with Mrs. Coulter had she witnessed such vulnerability emanate from her as she did in that moment. Little did she know that her proclamation had cracked open the woman’s hard, polished exterior, revealing an array of emotions that had not seen the light of day in many years. 

Lyra gazed wide-eyed at Mrs. Coulter, the woman’s impassioned words ringing in her ears like the sweetest of bells. “Do you really mean that?”

Mrs. Coulter planted a warm kiss on the girl’s forehead, her lips brushing over Lyra’s scar before laying back down and curling around the girl. “With everything that I have, darling. My place is with you – that is not a lie.” She tucked Lyra’s head beneath her chin and resumed rubbing the girl's back in small circles, blinking hard as tears welled in her own eyes for the first time in eleven years.

Lyra nestled closer to Mrs. Coulter, reveling in her warmth and the quiet contentment that washed over her. She rested her head against the woman’s chest and closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of the woman’s heart beating softly against her ear.


End file.
